corn on the hand

My son took piano lessons for a year or so when he was in elementary school. Though I think the real reason he stopped taking lessons was because he has music talents beyond the limits of the classical style of music training, the precipitating event was his disgust with the teacher...Sister Agnise...and her penchant for blowing snot bubbles from her nose during his lesson time.

I took piano lessons for a much longer time period...I believe I endured the experience for about 5 years (before graduating into organ lessons...first taken to prepare to play for my oldest brother's wedding but eventually becoming a way to honor my mother and her delight in my playing...some day I might talk about the reason I quit organ lessons...enough said for now that it involved bondage).

My first piano teacher was my aunt...my Dad's youngest sister. It would have been ok in many ways except I was really not one of the favored nephews for my aunt...she preferred my older brothers.

My second and last piano teacher was Mrs. Vogt. She was a classic Fine German HausFrau. She believed in hard work, lots of practice, and timing. I eventually grew to loathe piano lessons...it all had to do with a 13 page piece called Riverboat Sonata...a piece involving three movements that I was to play for the Annual Recital. I had to memorize the piece.

My sister and I took lessons together. Sharon had some interest in piano but not much. While one played the lesson the other did school homework or tried to ignore Mrs. Vogt's youngest daughter. The first one to play the lesson had to call home for our pick-up time (this is a key piece...you NEVER wanted to be the first one to play).

Mrs. Vogt expected a lot of her students.

Mrs. Vogt expectorated a lot.

Mrs. Vogt was one of those kinds of people that were very juicy when they talked.

Mrs. Vogt LOVED to count out the timing of a piece when we played. The only problem was that she ALWAYS spit when she said the word "two". Timing for her was best represented by this: "One, Spew, Three, Four".

I remember many lessons. Two in particular are pertinent here. My sister had to play first one day and, being the first one to play, had to make the phone call for our pick-up after the lesson. I remember looking at my sister as she spoke on the phone and she was in near shock, trying to talk into the phone while avoiding a huge piece of potato that was stuck to the mouthpiece of the phone. I wanted desperately to laugh but lessons were serious business and you NEVER wanted to make a mistake in your lesson.

The other vividly remembered lesson was while I was playing the "Beautiful Dreamer" movement of the Riverboat Sonata. While loathing the song and enduring the millionth rendition of the piece, Mrs. Vogt nailed me on my poor timing and started her counting. One, Spew, Three, Four, One Spew Three, Four, One, Spew, Three, Four, One...and then it happened...at the word Two...she spit out a piece of food...it was corn...and it landed wetly on my right hand. AND I HAD TO CONTINUE PLAYING, with that wet piece of corn stuck on my hand...on top of my hand. And Mrs. Vogt never noticed it...she was so engrossed in my piece. I wanted to laugh and throw up.

And I finished the piece and we got picked up and the piece of corn was flicked into the wax plant in the corner of the room.